


Where Do We Go?

by womanaction



Series: Where Do We Go - S6 AU [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanaction/pseuds/womanaction
Summary: AU post-OMWF. Willow decides she's going to fix all of Buffy's problems, even if the solution is a little unexpected. COMPLETE. Buffy/Spike and Willow/Tara.





	1. Prologue

_We can tell the end is near…_

She doesn’t sleep.

Maybe it’s because she misses Tara’s warm arms. She won’t even look at her, for Goddess’ sake. Maybe it’s because she keeps replaying the night over and over again, seeing that bitter look of resignation in Buffy’s eyes.

_But where do we go…_

Maybe it’s because she still has that song stuck in her head. Seriously, is it some sort of extra-demon-y aftereffect? Because it’s been hours now and she can’t get it out.

She rolls over again and tries to remember what Tara had sung her yesterday. She’d been so bright and shining and… _enthusiastic_ , it was hard to make herself believe that it had all happened so quickly. That she had screwed everything up so quickly.

But she can fix it. She knows this. Tara will forgive her, and Buffy will forget – in time.

 _Damn that time._ If there was just an easier way…

“Sweetie?”

Tara sounds tired, frustrated. But not angry. Willow turns toward her with maybe a little more eagerness than is strictly called for. Her girlfriend (still, she hopes) regards her with something like distrust. “I can’t sleep,” she says, trying for a cute pout. It’s a weak effort, but Tara’s eyes soften slightly. “It’s just…”

“Buffy,” she supplies.

Willow nods. “I just – I can’t stop thinking of her up there, or out there, or however it works. Not here, happy not being here, in Heaven or Valhalla o-or whatever,” her voice starts doing that thing that she hates, but she can’t stop it now. “A-and she’s in so much pain, just living in that, that constant pain and I can’t fix it! It’s my fault and I just…wish I could make it go ‘poof’. You know, like ‘poof’, Buffy. ‘Poof’, happy Buffy. But...” she trails off as she finally realizes that maybe the magic terminology is less than ideal.

Sure enough, Tara’s lips are pursed and she scoots a little further back on the bed. The look in her eyes is stern. “Willow, sweetie, I know. And it’s not bad to feel that way, to want to take away her pain. But – you know you can’t, right? No more magic.”

“No more magic,” Willow agrees quickly. _No more bad magic. No more back-from-the-dead life-changy sort of magic. But…good magic, Glinda the good witch magic, how could that be so bad?_

“She needs to find her own happiness here. We just need to give her time, a-and maybe some space and support wouldn’t hurt. Let her know that we’re here for her.”

 _Happiness._ If she could just give Buffy happiness again…then she wouldn’t want to leave. Wouldn’t want to…die. And that was unequivocal goodness, right there. What couldn’t be good about giving the champion of the human race a little spring in her step?

Tara’s still watching her closely. She fakes a yawn. “Thanks baby. I guess I cried myself tired,” she says lightheartedly. “Night night.”

She rolls back over, but this time it’s not sad lump-on-a-log Willow. Now she’s (wo)man-with-a-plan Willow. All she needs to do is find out what would make Buffy happy and give it to her. Then everyone will feel better, including Tara. And things can go back to normal…

  
**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://dark-solace.org/elysian/viewstory.php?sid=5315>  



	2. Chapter 1

“If I was a Buffy, what would I want?” she says aloud in a sing-song voice, staring out the window. _Hey, if it works when I’m missing something…only in this case she’s the one missing something, and it’s kinda her will to live. Okay, down that road the bad thoughts live_.

“What’s that, sweetie?” The soothing noise of note-taking stops.

Oh. Tara. Right. Her brain scrambles as she turns around. “Just…thinking about what to get Buffy.”

Tara frowns. It’s pretty cute. “Her birthday isn’t until January.”

“Well, you know, gotta be prepared!” she says. “Plus, you know, Christmas.”

“But you don’t celebrate Christmas,” Tara points out.

“Yeah, but…Buffy does! And – and I want to do something nice. You know, because the whole… _heaven_ thing.” She finds herself lowering her voice on the last two words, as if saying them quietly will activate some sort of magic undo button sending everyone back to last spring.

_Nope. Didn’t work. Although…I could probably…the sacrifice would be immense though. And I’d hate to lose everything I’ve learned…_

Tara smiles a little. “Maybe you should just…talk to her? Not necessarily about…unless she wants to. But she might not be ready.”

“Oh, duh. Yeah. And maybe I could figure out something to make her happy again.”

“I don’t think a Christmas present is going to make up for _that_ ,” she says quietly. Willow swallows nervously.

“No, of course not! I meant happi- _er_. Not expecting presto, brand new Buffy, just…maybe I can help lighten the load somehow.” She tries for her most sincere smile, which should be easy since she means every word. Just maybe not in the way Tara thinks.

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but after a minute she starts writing again and Willow breathes a silent sigh of relief.

_Now for the fun part._

* * *

 

Talking to Buffy was a bust.

She was all quiet and sulky and distant. Whenever Willow had tried to make a joke and lighten the mood, Buffy had only smiled absently. She didn’t seem mad, exactly, just very, very sad, and not bothering to hide it as much as she had to have been for months now. She left the Espresso Pump $7 lighter, a large coffee and a yummy pastry heavier, and with exactly the same amount of answers she’d come in with.

_Okay, new tack. Hmm, is that short for tactic or is it like a horse tack thing? Ooh, or hard tack. Alright, focus, Willow._

She sneaks a peek at Tara in the bed next to her. Sound asleep. She sort of wishes she could be disappointed – they haven’t exactly had a lot of alone time what with the singing and betrayal – but Buffy is the priority for now. She pulls the notebook out from under the bed, this gorgeous, solemn piece of craftsmanship Giles had given her a couple of birthdays ago. Of course, he would totally disapprove of her current use. He seemed to disapprove of an awful lot these days. But he’d see, when his Slayer was all spiffy and new again. Buffy’s pep would put the Buffybot to shame.

If she could just figure out what would make her happy…

She could always cut out the middleman and do a spell for Buffy’s happiness, but that wasn’t the best plan. The spellcaster’s own opinions had a way of bleeding into the magicks, meaning that Buffy would be a fake-happy caricature. Or worse, a carbon copy of Willow herself! Too risky.

She could do some sort of mindreading spell, but that could take forever to find out what Buffy wanted, assuming Buffy even knew. Those sorts of things skimmed the surface. Good for gift-buying, not so much for giving someone a reason to wake up in the mornings. Even Cordelia probably needed something more than a cute new pair of shoes to give her life purpose. (“Unless they’re designer, duh!” she can hear her saying.)

Wait…surface. She remembers something about this…deep soul travel. If she remembers correctly, it’s based on a technique indigenous to some demon species. The “soul” part is a bit of a misnomer, since apparently one of those isn’t necessary to have this done. It’s like diving into someone’s psyche, the deepest parts of them. Way invasive, but hey, it’s for the greater good, and it’s not like she hasn’t been in Buffy’s brain before.

She reaches out with her magic and feels the book. The leather cover (at least, she hopes it’s leather) is warm, soft, and a deep, deep red. It’s still in the Magic Box, in the very back. Controlling her breathing, she extracts the book into another dimension and drops it back right into her lap. It lands with a soft thump.

Tara doesn’t stir.

She flips to the page immediately, but before she has a chance to reread the spell, she hears a window creak. Buffy must be back from patrol.

_Well, there’s no time like the present_.

The spell calls for direct laying-on of hands by the less experienced practitioner. If everything goes as planned, Buffy should immediately lose consciousness and not remember the last few minutes when she wakes.

If not…well, she’ll deal with that if it happens. But it won’t. She’s dealt with way more serious magicks and pulled them off beautifully.

She walks to Buffy’s room quietly, taking care not to wake Dawn or Tara. Buffy is sitting on her bed, shoes off but otherwise fully dressed. She’s staring vacantly at the wall and Willow’s stomach drops for a second. _Good thing I’m here to fix things_ , she tells herself sternly and walks in.

Buffy starts. “Willow! I…I didn’t see you there.”

“Good thing I’m not a vampire, huh?” she says, faking perkiness. Buffy smiles weakly.

Willow sits down on the bed next to her. She can tell Buffy wants to pull away, but before she has a chance, Willow reaches up and brushes her forehead with one hand. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Buffy sighs, letting her eyes close a little.

Willow puts her other hand on the other woman’s forehead, then under her breath begins to chant. “ _Fac me introire. Animum secretis, fac me introire. Fac me_ _introire._ ”

She thought before that maybe she would see Buffy’s eyes roll back or something. Instead, all of reality seems to bend and narrow until she finds herself in what looks like a very large room. It’s gray all around, with no apparent ceiling or walls, but she’s definitely standing on _something_. Hopefully that something is the base of Buffy’s being and not, say, some freaky other dimension where she’s trapped now. She takes a few cautious steps forward.

Up ahead is something that looks important; it’s darker than the grey around her and slowly pulsing, which is a good sign. Movement means life. And this looks familiar – like a heartbeat.

She reaches the pulsing thing more quickly that she would have expected – it seems to only take her a few steps when it had looked yards away at least. A rational, Giles-y part of her brain cautions her not to reach out and touch it, but a much more undeniable part of her (if it’s even coming from inside her) forces her forward. When her fingers touch it, they sink in. The pulsing matter feels like a viscous liquid. Soon, her entire arm is immersed. She sort of wants to pull it out and look at it, but finds herself sinking into the gooey cloud before she has a chance to experiment.

After a few seconds, she emerges on the other side. She looks down and finds herself still dry. Also, barefoot. Huh.

Inside the pulsing thing, things are still pulsing, but now she sees that it’s not uniform at all. Some parts are swirling, others congealing, and something in the corner seems to be bubbling up again and again. Nearly everything is drenched in gray, with occasional tinges of color appearing as they metamorphose. Working on pure instinct, Willow steps toward the nearest shape and confidently plunges her face in.

_Whoa_. The sensory experience is immediate. Herbs, cologne, and blood fill her nose the same instant her vision completely disappears. She is aware of a constant movement, a wave ebbing and flowing, but she can’t tell if it’s a physical movement or something she just knows. “Death,” says a voice uncomfortably close to her ear. “Death is your gift.”

_Wrong emotion, wrong emotion!_ She hears a laugh that might belong to Dracula. She doesn’t like it. Willow starts running forward and the steady pulse slows to a more sickening pace. She stumbles, losing her footing, and her stomach drops out again. Big as a billboard, Dawn’s eyes stare back at her silently. _I don’t like this one either!_ Something uncomfortably like a hand grabs at her bare ankle and she stumbles again. This time, she falls.

Willow tumbles forward into a sudden mist. It’s still mostly gray, but there are tinges of red – what she realizes after a second are little bolts of electricity. She climbs back up to her feet and feels a jacket suddenly drop onto her shoulders by a familiar presence.

_Angel. Of course!_ She mentally berates herself for not thinking of him sooner. Still, Buffy hadn’t seemed any happier after going to see him in LA. Maybe because nothing had changed for them – they still couldn’t be together.

But she could probably fix that…make that soul a bit more permanent. If she could re-soul him at seventeen, she should definitely be able to get rid of that inconvenient no-sex clause now.

She finds herself opening her mouth. “What do you want?”

Definitely her lips moving, but Buffy’s voice coming out. A little freaky, but not killing-deer-with-bare-hands freaky. She can deal.

She can see Angel now, through the mists. He frowns but says nothing. Buffy-as-Willow (or is it vice versa?) replies as if he had. “No, you don’t want me. If you wanted me we wouldn’t be here like this. Like strangers.”

Angel’s expression doesn’t change. He looks pained and sad, but not sorry. Finally, he leans in as if to kiss her on the head, but she doesn’t feel it. When she looks back up, he’s gone.

_Well, okay. Message received. Deeper issues going on_. She wonders if that was a dream or a memory, or maybe some combination of both. _Angel is probably not the best plan_.

Still, the romantic idea was a decent one. Maybe she could bring Riley back somehow. They’d been happy together, right?

She hadn’t noticed there was wind, but now it was picking up. It feels below freezing, little frozen water droplets stinging her face. She closes her eyes and tries to struggle forward, not sure how long the spell will last and still without a viable path to Buffy-happiness.

And then she hears it and she stops in her tracks.


	3. Chapter 2

“I died too many years ago.”

Willow stops in her steps. Buffy had said that Spike sang, but…she still hears herself and the others singing inside, although “outside” is still so blustery that she wouldn’t know where she was if she didn’t, y’know, know already. This has to be…a reprise? But Buffy is singing too, unfamiliar words to a tune she can’t place.

Still frozen, Willow watches Buffy slowly walk forward. “This isn’t real,” she sings. Vaguely, Willow wonders why _she_ isn’t Buffy again, but – _if this is going where I think this is going, I’m kinda okay with that._

“But you make me feel – ”

 “But I just wanna feel – ”

The music swells and for a second all that Willow can think is – _oh, that’s what that line was about!_ as the pair begins to kiss each other bruisingly. She wants to look away, but something (horror? intrigue? pure confusion?) keeps her eyes glued. It’s not exactly like the kisses she’d witnessed between them two years ago – less with the ooey-gooey smoochies and more with the, well. Animal lustiness.

The sight of Buffy and Spike… _embracing_ is soon drowned out by another gust, carrying something like snow with it. She blinks it back and mutters a countercurse under her breath, but either she had exhausted her magicks or they were no good here. Instead the wind seems to get stronger and stronger until it finally knocks her to her knees. She hears distant fanfare as she loses consciousness.

* * *

 

“Sweetie? Willow, can you hear me?”

 _Oh_ …

Groggily, she opens her eyes, which could only be slightly harder to do if they’d been superglued together. “What…?” she manages, sounding more like an eighty-year-old smoker than a college junior. She coughs weakly. _The snow must have…Oh Goddess._

She sits up, ignoring the pain. “Tara, what – how?”

Buffy is there too, she suddenly realizes, expression inscrutable. _Did she wake up? Did they know?_ Head whirling, she tries to stammer out an excuse. “I, I was…and Buffy, she…”

“Were you sleepwalking?” Tara asks gently. “Buffy found you on the floor.”

She looks at the Slayer, who nods. “You were passed out. No idea how long you’d been there. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“I…I don’t remember,” Willow says weakly. “I don’t normally…”

“It was probably the stress,” Buffy says shortly, not meeting her eyes. _She’s still mad_ , Willow realizes. _But maybe…_

“You should go back to sleep,” Tara says firmly. “Both of you. I-I can take care of Dawn. Just – rest.”

She’s still exhausted, so not really about to break out the Resolve Face. Tara and Buffy exit, leaving Willow alone in the bed and alone with her thoughts. What she’d seen in Buffy’s psyche…could it possibly be real?

_Buffy had been gone when we stopped singing…and Spike did save her, in his weird fucked-up way._

If it wasn’t real, then it had been a dream or a fantasy. And all of those were equally damning. Whatever Buffy’s feelings toward Spike, she definitely had a strong reaction to his presence judging from the Blizzard from Hell ™. _Strong feelings are of the good, even if the target is definitely of the bad. Maybe it’s just something she needs to get out of her system._

She scrunches her brow. Doing a spell to make Buffy happy was one thing, but having her happy-making be with a demon was another. Plus there was the whole tie-you-up, say-you-love-me thing. She could just imagine what her Women’s Studies professor would say to that.

 _If only I could talk to Tara about this,_ she thinks desperately. _But one hint of spell-castiness and she’ll be gone. I need a second opinion, preferably from someone with experience dating someone sorta evil and crazy. But where will I find someone like that?_

_Oh, right._

* * *

 

“So how’s the wedding planning going?” Willow asks, chipper as can be. She takes another long sip of her Chocalicious Mocha-Locha Flavor-Filled caffeine thing. Xander watches her warily.

“Sure you need more of that, Wills?”

She shrugs.

“And it’s…fine. Anya’s doing all the work. Well…I’m doing the work of making sure we have enough money for everything, since her family’s been dead for oh, about a thousand years.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m surprised she’s not suckering Giles out of his money,” Willow observes. Xander snorts.

“She’s been badgering him for another raise, but so far he’s staying strong.”

She takes another sip, then asks, “What was it like when you first started seeing Anya?”

He frowns. “What’s with the sudden interest? Not that I’m complaining, but you two have never exactly been braiding-each-other’s hair types. Which I’ve come to live with, because I think that’s the first step in you turning someone gay.”

She points her straw at him. “Watch it, mister. I seem to remember someone being way better at French braids than I ever was. Remember when my mom would let you eat breakfast with us if you’d do my hair every day?”

“That was a sacred, unspoken deal. And it’s not my fault that you suck at braiding.”

She glares, and Xander chuckles. “I kinda missed that look,” he says softly. “Uh, but, Anya…I don’t know. It was weird, I guess. Weird because I couldn’t believe I was into her, and that she was into me, and weird because…I didn’t know where things were going. And a little scary.”

“Scary?”

“Well, the whole vengeance demon curse-your-penis-off thing. Plus, you know. I wasn’t sure what you guys would think. It was bad enough just going to prom with her, but it becoming a whole thing? A little freaksome.”

She nods slowly.

“But I mean, you’ve got to get that, right? Probably felt that way with, uh, Tara. You know, unexpected attractions…not sure what friends will think…”

“Yeah,” she says, remembering that long period of secrecy. _It was exciting…but yeah, a little scary._ “She wasn’t a demon though.”

“Ex-demon,” he corrects quickly, sounding a lot like his fiancée. “And…yeah, but she thought she was, right?”

“Right…”

_That’s it. If she is…whatever, with Spike…she’s got to be worried about us. Maybe I should just tell her it’s okay? But there’s no way Xander and Giles would be with me on that. I could put a spell on them so they’d like him. That would be way obvious though. And also those spells tend to overestimate so I’d probably end up making Xander fall in love with Spike instead._

_Which could be pretty funny._

_But maybe, instead of making them approve, it’d be easier to just make it so she doesn’t care._ She snaps her fingers. “Yes,” she breathes.

“Uh, Will?”

She blinks, suddenly guilty. “Oh, um – sudden breakthrough in, uh…math. I have to go. Good talk! Bye!”

She can feel Xander’s eyes on her as she walks briskly away, but she can’t worry about that right now. She may have just figured out the key to Buffy’s happiness.

* * *

_It’s a really simple spell. A little sage, a bit of wormwood, and a pinch of good intentions! What could go wrong?_

The herbs are mixed and she’s looked over the incantation. All that’s left is the doing of it.

The name is a little silly, really: Follow Your Heart. _How very Disney_. Still, it’s supposed to help the target “chase away shyness, anxiety, and other barriers to happiness” and let them “make their dreams come true on their own terms.” She grins, imagining an old-timey salesman in a striped hat rattling off the pitch and whistling a jaunty tune. It sounds a little snake-oil-adjacent, she has to admit, but everything makes sense and looks right on track. She holds her hand above the bowl of herbs and slowly moves it, feeling the magic flow from her hand and soak into the herbs. “From my hand to the herb, from the herb to the heart. Tomorrow day, her blessings will start. From the heart to the herb, from the herb to the hand. Strike down the blocks in her path that do stand. Let it be done.”

A soft glow encompasses the bowl, then fades. “Well,” she says, satisfied as she scoops up the herbs into the sachet, “at least I know it worked!” Willow of two years ago would certainly have been excited to see the visual evidence of her magic at work, but now…well, after you’ve stood up to a god and raised a Slayer from the dead, it’s kinda hard to get excited by a little bit of whoosh and woo.

Sneaky as a cat, she slips into Buffy’s now-empty room and hides the sachet under the pillows and sheets. Hopefully the Slayer will be too tired to notice the vague smell of magic tonight, and tomorrow she’ll be too busy taking on the world and getting whatever she wants (even if that is, okay, Spike, which Willow isn’t pretending to understand). _It’s too bad I didn’t know about this spell a few years ago,_ she thinks suddenly. _It really could have helped Tara stand up to her family. I wonder why she never tried it?_ Tara was always so careful like that. She loves that about her girlfriend, but sometimes it’s time to _do_ something.

Like Willow had, just now.

She smiles a little to herself as she fluffs Buffy’s pillows back up, and a thought crosses her brain that she would never admit out loud.

_I am the best friend ever._


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am planning to add some tie-in oneshots to fill in details after the main story is finished. This story will be entirely Willow POV but I will have at least one story with Buffy POV set in this 'verse!

She wakes up with a smile on her face.

_Giving back feels so good. I should do something else! Something like…donuts! Today is a donut kind of day._

She feels so good walking to the store she almost wonders if she somehow cast the spell on herself instead. _But hey, I guess there was nothing standing between myself and happiness in the first place, huh?_

At breakfast, Tara gives her a sidelong glance. “Sleep well?”

“Oh yeah,” she says, almost bouncing up and down. “Hey, you wanna do something today? No class! Ooh! We could go to the zoo! The zoo is always a good time…well, except for when hyena spirits possess your classmates. But I’m sure that won’t happen again.”

Before Tara answers, Buffy appears. “Mm, donuts,” she says, grabbing one immediately.

“Buffy!” Willow exclaims, with more energy than probably necessary. “How are you feeling?”

But Buffy is already heading out the door. She watches her go, a little bemused but still pleased. “She’s eating,” she says happily. “And – did you see those pants? Those weren’t depression pants!”

Tara looks at her with a mixture of understanding and…pity? “I know you want her to feel better, sweetie, and so do I. But you can’t push her, you know. I-I mean…sometimes getting better isn’t just a straight line of recovery. It’s hard and exhausting and there’s a lot of backtracking.”

“I know,” Willow says, a little put out. “But…donuts! And pants! I just…I know she’s getting better. I can feel it. Call it…witch’s intuition.”

Tara raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“So…zoo?”

“I have studying,” Tara protests weakly.

Willow sighs dramatically. “You know I think smart is sexy, but you really don’t have to work that hard to get my attention,” she says teasingly, hoping that some good old-fashioned flirting will banish some of the weird awkwardness between them.

Further proving the goodness of the day, it works. “Okay,” Tara allows. “Cute fuzzy animals today, studying tomorrow.”

The coy smile she sends Willow’s way still makes her heart skip a beat.

The front door opens again and at first she thinks it’s Buffy coming back, maybe with smiling and gratefulness. Not that she’d know to be grateful to Willow.

“Mm, donuts!” Xander says immediately. His hand pauses before he picks up the pastry. “Wait…these aren’t apocalypse-time research donuts are they? Because if so, I want no part of them.”

“Nope!” Willow says cheerfully. “Just happy Saturday donuts.”

“Where’s Anya?”

“Inventory,” Xander says around a mouthful of donut. He swallows. “I tried to tempt her away but I think we might have found the thing she likes more than sex.”

_Ew._

“Anyway, I’m supposed to meet Buffy and the Dawnster. Something about winter clothes shopping.”

“Buffy,,,left,” Tara says slowly. “She didn’t say where she was going.”

Xander shrugs. “Probably some Slayer emergency. DAWN, YOU READY?” he yells in the general direction of the steps.

“Like two more minutes!” she shouts back. _Oh, the joys of teenagerdom_.

“Just enough time for another donut,” he says with satisfaction.

Tara opens her mouth hesitantly then shuts it again. Willow catches on instantly. “Uh, or you could take one to Anya!” she suggests brightly. Tara shoots her a smile and she feels a little better. Not that she’d been feeling bad.

Xander looks at her oddly. “I could, but I’ve been exiled from the Magic Box during inventory. You know how I mentioned she likes it more than sex? Well, if you combine the two…”

“Gross,” Dawn comments, walking down the stairs. “Mm, donuts!”

“Better be careful with that, Dawnster, or you won’t fit in your shiny new duds,” Xander teases as she eagerly digs in.

She scoffs at him. It’s a little less condescending than she probably intends, considering her face is covered in powdered donut dust. “Duds? Time travel much?” She looks down slightly. “Besides, mom always said we should pig out before shopping so we wouldn’t buy clothes that were too small.”

“A-and you need the calories. For the walking,” Tara puts in quickly before the atmosphere can get too awkward.

“Yeah,” Dawn says distantly. “Calories.”

It gets awkward anyway.

* * *

 

She yawns. It seems like forever since she’s felt like this – warm, snuggly, post-coital. Tara is already fast asleep. It’s a perfect moment.

Except that she’s really, really thirsty.

 _I could just summon it in here,_ she muses. She steals a glance at her sleeping girlfriend. _But if she wakes up…_

Not wanting to ruin the moment, Willow creeps out of bed herself.

She’s heading back up when she hears voices. Not in a concerning psychological or supernatural way, but still – voices. She pauses for a second, trying to make them out. It’s Buffy and Dawn, talking in the living room.

“- got denied,” Dawn says quietly. “It’s not a big deal or anything, Xander took care of it but…I thought you should know.”

“Thanks,” Buffy replies briefly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Buffy, you know…I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she says confidently. “I’ll take care of it, and I’ll pay Xander back. No problem.”

Willow thinks about this as she goes back up the stairs. _Is Buffy getting a job? Is that where she was today?_ A slight pang of guilt. _Maybe I should get a job, too. But I’m in school and…she seems pretty sure she’s got it handled. I’m sure she’ll ask me to help out if she needs it._

She finishes her water quickly and crawls back into bed. The darkness seems to swallow her up, and within minutes that feel like seconds, she’s asleep.

* * *

 

Willow is bored.

As promised, she’s not bothering Tara while she studies for her big test. _I’m so bored I almost wish I had a big test,_ she thinks mournfully. It’s Sunday afternoon and everyone is off doing their own thing. She’s toyed with the idea of trying out some new spells, but on the off-chance someone catches her, she’d rather be bored than yelled at.

 _What do people do with their time? What do_ vampires _do with their time?_ She wonders suddenly. _Maybe that’s why Spike watches so much daytime TV._

 _Spike_. Huh. _Is Buffy there with him now?_ She tries to picture it. Well, not _it_ – she really doesn’t want to, although their passionate post-musical make-out had given her some idea of what it might look like. But – them. In a together-y way. It kinda hurts her brain.

Still…she remembers how he was. Before her fall, he seemed to be softening up, like an old picture that had gone fuzzy. And after…he’d been so sad and empty. Lifeless. _I’d probably be the same way if I hadn’t been able to get Tara back._

She takes a second to process that she even made that comparison. _Because I’m a human with a soul and he’s…so not._

_Still, he’s probably less evil than Anya. How many horrible curses equal a person killed? And does it count as much if it’s for food? But then he killed Slayers for fun, which has to be as bad as killing like a dozen normal people at least, since they’re all champions of good and whatnot. But she was around so much longer…_

Lost in contemplation of their relative evilness, she’s startled when Buffy walks in.

“Hey!” she says. Buffy turns and looks at her, acknowledging her only with a nod.

“How are things? I haven’t seen you. Did you get a job, because -  ”

“Have you seen Xander?” she interrupts flatly.

Willow blinks. “No, not today. He was here yesterday but - ”

“Okay.” Buffy turns to leave.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, steeling herself for the Slayer’s response. _Maybe she just needs to let it out and yell at me. If it makes her feel better…_

But Buffy doesn’t yell. She simply says, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Willow is left in stunned silence as Buffy closes the door again.

_You know, I might have felt better if she’d slammed it._

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 4

“Have you noticed anything… _different_ about Buffy?” Willow asks quietly. They’re sitting around the Magic Box, waiting for some sort of important announcement from Giles.

Xander thinks. “Well, she did pay me back some money she owed me, which is pretty unusual,” he says jokingly.

“Okay, but…does she seem happier?” she asks again, voice still quiet. Tara, paging through a book, doesn’t seem to notice.

“She seemed sort of avoidy when I saw her, but I guess she didn’t have that dead look in her eyes.” He pauses. “Uh…verbal backspace. Bad choice of words.”

“I know what you meant,” she reassures him.

“Maybe she has a secret other job,” he suggests. “One that’s paying a lot of money.”

“Or maybe she’s having sex with someone,” Anya adds loudly. _Damn, I really thought she wasn’t listening._

_Also, her voice is so grating you could make lemon zest out of it._

Tara looks up but doesn’t say anything. Xander seems interested in the possibility. “Ooh, I’ll take secret boyfriend for 500, Alex.”

“Although it wouldn’t explain the money,” Anya notes.

“Unless he’s also her sugar daddy.” Xander grimaces. “Bad images. I’m batting a thousand today.”

Willow just tries to stifle her laughter at the thought that Spike could be anybody’s sugar daddy.

Giles finally comes in from the back. “Er – what are we talking about, exactly?”

“The weirdness that is Buffy,” Xander says immediately at the same time his fiancée says “Buffy’s secret lover.”

 _Way to tact. Maybe they really are meant for each other,_ Willow thinks glumly.

Giles clears his throat. “Yes, well – I don’t suppose any of you have seen her today, then?”

Before they have a chance to answer, the Slayer in question appears.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing yet,” says Giles, quickly recovering. “But I do have something important to…disclose.”

Willow expects a quip, but Buffy merely stands there and folds her arms.

 _Is that what a happy person would do?_ she wonders suddenly. _Maybe…maybe it didn’t work at all. That hasn’t happened to me in a while._

_Or maybe…_

_Maybe she found the herbs and put two and two together. That has to be it, that’s why she was so mad at me when she’s been normal to everyone else!_

_Oh, Goddess…what am I going to do?_

She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she misses most of what Giles says until “— leaving Saturday.”

Anya is eyeing him suspiciously. “Is this permanent or are you just doing this to torture me? Because frankly, I don’t enjoy being on this end of the torturing!”

Xander cringes ever-so-slightly.

 _But wait, Giles leaving?_ Her brain whirls. _On the one hand, he’s useful for apocalypse-y stuff. On the other…I could probably be that useful if he’d let me and stop yelling at me for every little thing._

_On the other, other hand…how will Buffy take it?_

She sneaks a look. The Slayer is still standing there stonily. “You can’t leave,” she says firmly. “I want you to stay.”

Giles looks down, something like guilt crossing his face. “I- yes, Buffy, I understand that. And if my sole concern was what I wanted…rest assured I would never think of leaving. But, well…I rather think it’s best if I go.”

“What can I do to make you stay?” Buffy asks, setting her jaw.

He frowns. “Buffy, this isn’t so simple.”

She stares at him for a second, eyes narrowed. Then she shrugs. “Okay. Sure.”

Buffy turns on her heels ( _ooh, nice heels_ ) and leaves.

Everyone is silent for a few moments until Tara hesitantly asks some minute question about England. The four of them fall into a lively, if still somewhat awkward, conversation, but Willow is still too distracted.

_I’ve never seen Buffy act that way, except – last year. Right at the end._

_But we’re all safe, right? No big baddie out to suck and/or drain our blood for ritual purposes._

_Maybe I’m just paranoid…_

* * *

She has classes and a test that for once in her life she wasn’t ready for until the night before. Tara makes her some tea and she studies until her eyes feel like they’re about to drop out of her skull. Any mention or thought of Buffy barely registers on her radar, and she sure as hell doesn’t see her. By this point, she’s pretty convinced that her best friend hates her.

 _And maybe that’s a little justified,_ she thinks shortly before falling asleep. _I mean…she doesn’t know that I was just doing a spell on her for her own good. Who knows what she thinks I was doing…_

_I did bring her back from heaven after all. Maybe she thinks I was trying to send her back?_

* * *

Her test is solidly okay, which usually counts as utter failure in Willow-land. But her head hasn’t been in the game school-wise all semester. She just doesn’t get that incredible, exciting rush of excitement anymore. It’s just…school.

_Is this how Buffy and Xander felt all those years?_

Tara has back-to-backs, so she heads off-campus to go eat lunch by herself. She’s halfway through her yummy panini, sitting outside of the café, when she spots someone who very definitely also has back to back classes.

“Dawnie!”

Her shoulders freeze up as Willow’s voice registers, but she obviously knows she’s been caught out.

“Hey,” she greets casually, the epitome of “playing it cool.” “Ooh, is that pesto? Yum.”

Willow frowns. “Hey, listen…missy. Don’t think I don’t know it’s a school day. I’m _in_ school, remember?”

“We had a half day,” she said breezily.

Off Willow’s look, she adds, “Because…I had…cramps. And a temperature.”

“Aren’t you a little young for senioritis?”

Dawn sighs and, giving up, collapses into the other chair at Willow’s table.

“Does Buffy know?” Then, suddenly realizing, “Have you been cutting class a lot?”

“I’ve barely seen her. So…pretty much no.”

Willow raises an eyebrow but doesn’t repeat her second question. “Dawnie…”

“I know, I know. Spare me the lecture.”

She has a sudden flashback to Giles yelling at her in the kitchen and cringes. “Nope, no lecture today! I’m actually done with my classes and, well, there’s no reason for you to go back when you’re already cutting. Just make the most of today, you know, and…don’t do it again.”

“Really?” Dawn asks suspiciously.

Against her better judgment, Willow nods.

“Cool. Hey, can I have your pickle? I have one of those little hot sauce bottles and a really great idea.”

Willow passes it over, immediately regretting everything.

* * *

 

She spends the afternoon with Dawn, browsing shops, making light conversation, and showing off a couple of spells-in-progress. It’s nice to be around someone who thinks what she’s doing is cool instead of acting concerned when she uses a ball of sunshine instead of a flashlight. _Isn’t renewable energy supposed to be in?_ She kinda likes getting to feel like a big sis, although it does remind her of how little time she spent with Dawnie over the summer.

It wasn’t because she didn’t want to. It was just…she was always with Spike or someone, which was weird. She had never really gotten their friendship, but Buffy seemed mostly okay with it. And seeing Dawn just made her think about Buffy and made her feel bad all over again. If she’d just practiced more, learned the right spells, she could have prevented the whole thing.

_And if Buffy had never died, I would never have had to bring her back. And she’d be happy…er, at least. And, bonus - she wouldn’t totally hate me._

Maybe if she hadn’t been all guilt-wracked she wouldn’t have worked so hard to bring Buffy back quickly, and they would have found out for sure where she was.

She refuses to consider if that would have changed things.

Anyway, fun aside, she’s totally ready to turn into Authority Figure Willow as soon as they walk into the house. Like a Transformer.

Unfortunately, the world has kept on turning without them.

“Willow!” Xander exclaims when they come in. She opens her mouth to tease him about the fact that he doesn’t actually live there, but before she has a chance he claps his hands together. “Just the witch I was hoping to see.” _Uh oh. He only does that when he’s nervous._

 _And usually when he has bad news_.

Before he has a chance to split it out, her gaze shifts to behind him.

Beside her, Dawn quietly says, “Shit.”

Willow concurs.


	6. Chapter 5

Sitting there in the living room are two people. One of them looks so assured that she could almost swear that she never left town. The other looks distinctly uncomfortable.

Willow immediately turns around again just to check. It’s still day. “How did you…”

“I drove,” Cordelia says helpfully. “Angel hid in the back with blankets. Although somehow he still managed to be a backseat driver.”

She rolls her eyes, but fondly, somehow. Angel scowls a little. “Willow,” he says seriously. “It’s about Buffy.”

“Well, yeah. Kinda figured.”

Xander speaks up. “After what you said - and then Anya said the thing about Buffy having a secret and, I kinda thought I’d try to talk to her about it. So I came by to talk to her today and she wasn’t here, but I just couldn’t shake the idea that something was off. So I looked around a little bit…and then I found this.”

He holds up the item and she catches her breath.

“It’s a lighter,” he says triumphantly. “More specifically, a lighter belonging everybody’s least favorite bleached blonde menace.”

“We-we don’t know that!” Willow protests weakly. “It could be anyone’s!”

Xander scoffs. “Right, anyone’s ancient lighter that we’ve all seen a thousand times. I don’t like the implication just as much as you do, but…”

He lets it hang in the air for a second before continuing. “So I had a flashback to Thanksgiving a few years ago, the whole vision-about-Buffy thing, and I thought it was worth a shot. I called LA - ”

“Found out I was the current vision-haver,” adds Cordelia, looking at Willow pointedly.

“ – she blabbed to Angel, and here we are.”

“So no vision?” Willow asks.

“No vision,” Angel confirms. “But we do have a suspicion. What Xander said about Buffy’s odd behavior…it sounds like a spell of some sort.”

 _Uh oh_.

“So we were like, who would want to put a spell on Buffy?” Cordelia says.

 _Double uh oh_.

“And the obvious culprit was Spike,” finishes Xander.

_Oh…well, okay._

_I mean, on one hand, he totally didn’t do it, but on the other…there will be majorly bad consequences if they find out it’s me._

_And besides, he is evil. And, apparently, banging Buffy. Which is all thanks to yours truly, so I’d say he owes me this one._

“Are you serious?”

Willow had almost forgotten Dawn was there.

But she is, and she’s got her hands on her hips like she’s Buffy’s Mini-me. “Spike would never do that,” she says with authority. “You guys are cracked. I mean, a lighter? That’s your evidence? Come on. I’ve seen Law and Order.”

Angel looks uneasy. He’s never really known how to deal with Dawn, now that she thinks about it. “I’ve known Spike over a hundred years. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do.”

Dawn snorts. “Oh, when was it you two were getting to be so buddy-buddy? Was it when you got all soul-y and ate a bunch of rats or was it when you came back to Sunnydale and started doing Drusilla right under his nose?”

“Dawn!” Willow scolds automatically.

Cordelia, for her part, looks pretty darn amused. Angel gives her a betrayed look.

“Okay, what’s with the debate over what Spike would or wouldn’t do?” Xander asks, perturbed. “In case you forgot, he’s soulless. Evil. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time the guy threatened to kill me, I wouldn’t have any dollars because he would have stolen them.”

Dawn’s glare intensifies. “You guys didn’t seem to have a problem pawning me off on him all summer when Buffy was – ”

But Willow misses Angel’s instinctive cringe and Xander’s escalating argument because out the side window she sees a flash of something bright.

Something really blindingly, _platinum_ bright.

A blanket-shrouded Spike is posed outside. He presses his face to the glass and they make eye contact. His eyes, always prominent, are the size of dinner plates. Spike jerks his head in the universal sign of “I need to talk to you in private.”

 _As if this situation needed to get more complicated,_ she thinks tiredly, but nods covertly. Thankfully, Dawn hasn’t noticed her buddy, too busy in her ardent defense of him. Angel’s brow has somehow become even more furrowed, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed his...former friend? Grandson? _Vampire relationships are weird._

“I have to…” she says vaguely. Nobody seems to notice as she slips out the back. Normally, that would bother her – attention is kinda nice, after all – but right now the high school Invisi-Girl routine is doing her some good.

Spike is lounging in a shaded part of the back porch, looking cool as a cucumber and definitely not like he’d risked life and limb dashing through killer sunlight just to have a little chat. His eyes are still wide, though, and he seems almost jumpy, like a hunted animal. He’s smoking nervously, hands shaking. _Did he drop his cigarette earlier?_ she wonders, noticing the burns on his hands. “Red,” he greets. “I, uh – well, it’s about Buffy.”

Before she can respond, he continues. “I’ve no idea what’s happened but it’s either a spell or complete psychological break and I’m leaning towards the former.”

“I thought you’d be happy,” she says, a little put out.

“Well, I was, at first, but – hang on. What do you mean, you thought I’d be happy?” The cigarette has dropped from his mouth and he stomps it out absentmindedly. “It’s your bloody fault, innit? You and your fuckin’ goody-goody – and don’t think I didn’t hear everyone in there blaming it on old Spike and there you are, sitting pretty on the knowledge that you’ve driven a Slayer completely barmy.”

He takes a step toward her, almost into the sunlight. She stands her ground. “Okay, I thought it was crazy, too, but she’s… _whatever_ with you and she’s got some sort of job and she’s standing up for herself! To me, which kinda sucks, but I want her to be happy, unlike you, Mr. Selfish! I mean, what the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” he chokes out disbelievingly. “Your Slayer, the champion of all that’s good, saver of all the bloody little kittens up a tree, is out there smashing up her Watcher’s car and extorting money and you think I’m the one with a bleedin’ problem?”

“She’s – what?”

Somehow he gets even closer, nostrils flaring. In a quiet, pinched voice, he says, “Buffy is out of her mind. She’s actin’ like a bloody fledge – only in the moment, not thinkin’ about any consequences. And maybe I could look past it if she was happy but she’s still fuckin’ miserable. You can see it in her eyes. I’ve barely slept because I’m trying to make sure she doesn’t get back to Heaven the hard way because she thinks for a second that it’s a good idea. I only left because I thought you’d be some help, God only knows why. Whatever you were trying to do with that spell, you bollixed it up. _Again_.”

“I saw you kissing!” she blurts out. He freezes. _Well, a lie of omission never hurt anyone. What’s that thing Obi-Wan says that Xander’s always quoting? “It’s true…from a certain point of view?”_ “I saw you kissing and…I thought maybe you could make Buffy happy, but there was no way that she’d be okay with it because of the judgment.”

“The judgment,” he repeats.

“From, well…us. Not me! Mostly. So I just put a spell on her so she would get her heart’s desire, basically, and not care what everyone else thinks.”

Spike’s already shaking his head. “Like hell. You better reread that fine print or maybe you used...toad legs instead of frogs, I have no bloody idea. But this is not a Buffy who is getting what she wants.”

“So you didn’t…?”

His eyes flick away from hers and she feels a rush of triumph. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he says quietly. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he sounds a little guilty. “That it was a spell or some business like that. That she wasn’t in her right mind.”

“But…”

“But yeah, whatever coy innuendo you’re building up to. We did that, and the other, and ten times more. But we have to get real Buffy back, even if she hates me.”

“And me,” Willow says. _Wait…_ “She destroyed Giles’s car?”

Spike clears his throat. “There’s still bits and pieces. Caught up to her and managed to stop her, then I cuffed her to what’s left of it.”

“And you think that’ll hold her?”

The look on Spike’s face answers that question pretty easily. He starts forward, but she puts a hand to his chest. “I’ll go. You can explain to the others and get them ready to be backup.”

“Really rather not,” he mutters, but he stays in place as she whispers a teleportation spell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purposes of this story, Darla has not yet come back into the picture on AtS although if we take the airdates as a guide for lining up Buffy and Angel episodes, that should have already happened just after OMWF.


	7. Chapter 6

The spell finds her immediately and Willow opens her eyes to the sigh of Buffy. Her gaze drops to her wrists. One wrist is still cuffed, but the other hangs loosely. And the car…

_Or rather, the ex-car…_

From the looks of it, Buffy had broken the cuffs and immediately resumed her destructive activities. The car is definitely useless at this point.

“Buffy?”

She doesn’t turn around. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Buffy, you’re under a spell,” Willow says, not coming any closer. _I mean, I can totally defend myself but…not really with the wanting to._

The Slayer snorts a little and turns around, arms cross. The ex-car creaks. “Yeah, and let me guess – you’re here to put another one on me. Upgrade me to Buffy…4.0? 5? I’ve lost track.”

“It’s not - ” She tries to remind herself that Buffy is mostly saying these things to hurt her, make her leave her alone.

_But on the other hand, on some level, she has to believe it. That I’m doing all of this for some personal kicks instead of just…wanting my best friend back._

“Why’d you even have to bring me back? I’m sure the Bot wouldn’t have minded you mindfucking her on a regular basis. Was that not enough of a challenge?” she asks, tone acerbic. “Didn’t have to sneak into her room to change her personality.”

“I didn’t – wait. You did know,” Willow says, realizing. _Of course, that was the first spell, but I don’t think mentioning that is going to help my case._

“I’m the Slayer,” she says joylessly. “Duh.”

“So why didn’t you…”

Buffy finally meets her eyes. “If it’s defective, send it back.”

_She doesn’t mean…_

“No. No, I wouldn’t do that. How could you even think that?”

“Yeah, too merciful, huh?”

Buffy’s words hit her like – she’s too upset to think of a simile right now. Something terrible and pointy and incredibly painful and shame-inducing.

“I put the spell on you to try and make you happy,” Willow says helplessly. “It hurt to see you so miserable.”

She seems genuinely surprised by this. “Happy? That’s what you were aiming for? Because I’m feeling a lot of things but happy definitely isn’t one of them.” She waves her hand at the wreckage of the car. “It’s like I don’t have my soul, like…”

“Spike?” Willow supplies.

“Angel.”

“But Angel has his – oh.”

He’s standing there in the shadows, a bruise starting to flower on his left cheek. _I guess that’s what I get for telling Spike to get backup,_ she thinks glumly, looking around for the others. But they don’t seem to have caught up – even Spike.

Is it weird that she sort of wishes Spike were here? He sorta owes her, for one, and he already yelled at her, for two, so if everyone else is going to find out and do the whole intervention thingy at least there would be one person ( _well, kinda_ ) who would be – in the corner snickering at her, most likely, or glowering at her for hurting Buffy like this. But she remembers that guilty look on his face. So maybe not.

_If wishes were horses, etc. etc._

“Buffy,” Angel says in that soft voice that somehow carries easily in the sunlight. “Buffy, it’s okay.”

The Slayer screws her face up and for the first time spell!Buffy has a look of hesitancy. Her hands ball into shaking fists as she stares over at her vampire ex. “Angel,” she says equally quietly, but makes no move toward him. Her eyes are a little needy, or maybe just wanty.

Willow somehow manages to feel even more uncomfortable than she did before. The pair are just staring at each other, and she finds herself with a new fear – _oh Goddess, what if Buffy also doesn’t care about the curse anymore and just jumps him? Unless Angel actually stops her, we’d be in world-endy territory again and that wasn’t fun for anyone._

_Except me, a little. With the spell._

“It’s okay,” Angel says again, and something in that makes Buffy’s expression harden.

“It’s really not,” she responds firmly. “And you need to leave.”

The vampire looks hurt. “I’m here to help you.”

“I know. You’ll help. And then you’ll leave and it’ll hurt worse than before.” She looks straight at him. “I’m not one of your projects, Angel. Either be with me or leave me alone.”

He bristles. “I don’t know what Spike did, but he’s obviously been messing with your head.”

“Oh, back to that macho vamp pissing contest I love so much,” she says sarcastically.

 _Maybe I should leave,_ Willow thinks desperately. _I don’t think there’s a big danger of soul-losiness. All I have to do is burn the herbs and the spell should go ka-plooey._

Some part of her is a little scared that if she lets Buffy know of her plans, the Slayer would stop her. She doesn’t seem to be enjoying it, per se, but uninhibited Buffy is definitely unpredictable. _Reminds me a little too much of Faith. Like she might get all stabby any second now._

“Do you love him?” Angel presses further as Willow starts slowly backing away. She doesn’t think they’ll notice her absence, but she’s not going to push her luck with a teleportation spell. Not against two beings with super-speed, anyway.

She doesn’t hear Buffy’s response.

* * *

 

The others are gone when she gets back to the house. She silently thanks whatever powers are still on her side as she slips into Buffy’s room.

“Come on,” she mutters, pawing under the sheets. She definitely remembers putting it right there, and if Buffy had found it she would have said something. But she thought there was only the one spell, when she got caught “sleepwalking,” which means…

“Looking for this?”

 _That bitch,_ she thinks for probably the millionth time. Cordelia dangles the sachet from a single finger which is – _hmm, not as well-manicured as it used to be._

Maybe people do change.

“Hey, give that back!” Willow protests. It feels exactly like a scene that had played itself out a thousand times in kindergarten and elementary school.

 _Only this time, I have the upper hand._ She closes her eyes and makes a grabbing motion, trying to tug the sachet from the other woman’s hand.

Cordelia’s grip tightens. “Oh, no, you don’t. You think you’re the only one who’s gotten a little superhuman?”

“Ooh, visions,” Willow says mockingly, gritting her teeth. “So impressive.” _That’s right, distract her._ Unfortunately, all the emotional draining of the last few hours has sucked a little of her power and focus, and as much as she’d like to wipe that smirk off Cordelia’s face, she doesn’t want to actually hurt the other woman.

Much.

She finally succeeds in ripping the sachet away and it flies into her palm.

 _And the smirk? Damn._ Cordy still looks somewhat…triumphant? “What?” Willow asks, perturbed.

“I know something you don’t know,” she says in a sing-song voice, but doesn’t seem to take a lot of joy in it. Cordelia crosses to the bed and drops down on it, patting the other side.

Willow frowns, but sits gingerly.

“I lied,” Cordelia says conversationally.

It takes a lot to keep back the snarky comments, but she’s a little interested in where this is going.

“I did have a vision.”

 _Oh._ “About Buffy?”

She shakes her head. “No. About you. And I have to say, evil glowing eyes? Not a great look on you. Which is a shame, because you seem to have finally figured out a style that doesn’t make you look like an overgrown toddler. Who’s also blind.”

“Evil glowing eyes?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. _I’m choosing to ignore that last part._ “Are you sure it was me and not your good buddy Angel?”

“No, he makes evil look way better.” She waggles her eyebrows a little.

 _Ew,_ she thinks, suddenly remembering high school Cordelia’s weird crush on the vampire. She would have thought it had dissipated completely by their senior year, but maybe not. “So what’s your point?”

“The point is that I don’t really think any of us needs more death in our lives,” she sighs, looking distant for a second. _Wonder what that’s about._ “And I really, really don’t think Buffy wants to kill another of her friends. So maybe try not to be evil, okay?” She flashes that big, fake grin that always used to make Willow shudder.

“What, you think I’m just going to wake up and come over all evil because Dawn drank all the milk for my cereal?” Willow asks.

“I don’t know how it happens,” Cordelia says simply. “But I know you can stop it. Maybe by going cold turkey on this whole magic thing. Your girlfriend looked pretty worried when Spike said this was, you know, all your fault because of the spell. Also, I can’t believe I’m really saying that sentence.”

“That I have a girlfriend?” Willow says dully, imagining Tara’s face when she heard the news. _Probably won’t for much longer._

“That you guys are friends with Spike.”

“I don’t know if I would say…” she trails off, not sure what her defense would be. _We don’t really like him? It just kind of happened?_ “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay as in no magic okay?”

“I have to undo this spell,” Willow protests, gripping the sachet a little tighter.

Cordelia gives her a look. “Just tell me what to do.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey, Wesley taught me a few things! Give it.”

“Not really increasing my confidence,” she deadpans, remembering the clumsy former Watcher. _Still…_

Could Cordelia be right? That wasn’t a thought she even enjoyed entertaining, but it did happen sometimes. And she’d seemed serious underneath the teasing. Serious, and even concerned. Plus, what she’d said about Tara…

 _I’m screwed._ She hands the sachet over reluctantly. “It’s a simple countercurse. Just repeat the incantation I give you and…try not to burn the house down.”

Cordelia’s smile grows wider.


	8. Chapter 7

Cordy had sworn up and down, round and round that she could be trusted with this. “Pshh, I’m totally experienced with fire. You should have seen me after you and Xander – well. You know. I burned a _lot_ of stuff.”

Somehow, that hadn’t made Willow feel any better.

She finally leaves, though, because she really needs to do the damage control thing. Three people know the truth now – Buffy, Spike, and Cordelia. And she trusts two of them about as far as she can throw them minus magical assistance.

As for the other…she hopes no throwing of any kind will happen, but only TPTB knew what Buffy would do when she was back to herself. Or maybe less of herself. _Her regular, socially restricted self who doesn’t destroy private property._

_Ooh. Private property. Giles._

_He’s probably seen the car by now and he’s not going to be happy. And when he finds out who’s to blame, he’s going to be several times more unhappy._

Well, Giles is probably a lost cause. Besides, he’s going back to Ye Olde England, so she didn’t really need to worry, unless this whole thing made him change his mind. _Anya would be pissed._

She doesn’t care about Anya, though. And Xander will always be on her side (except maybe against Anya, although even then, she isn’t sure). And Buffy…Buffy will forgive her. Once she feels better.

Tara, though. Tara, the stable axis around which Willow’s whole world turns. Tara, the reason for getting up in the morning and going to bed every night and everything in between.

_If she leaves…_

She clenches her fist and refuses to think about that anymore.

 _What Cordelia doesn’t know won’t hurt her,_ she thinks with one last look back at the house as she sends her spirit back out to materialize near her love. _The Magic Box._ Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll be away from the others and Willow will have a chance to explain herself a little before Cordelia finishes the countercurse.

* * *

 

She isn’t lucky, of course. _If I were lucky,_ she thinks bitterly, _I would be a fairy tale good witch, the kind where everyone applauds when she appears in the room._

_Instead, everyone’s acting like I’m Maleficent._

She appears a few feet back right as Tara says, “I-I don’t know that this is a good idea.” Her voice is hesitant, but she presses on with more certainty. “I think if we go after her, she’ll feel – attacked. And that’s no good.”

Giles sees her first and sets his jaw. Her heart sinks. His expression portrays more distinct disappointment than she’s ever seen. She feels like a kid bringing home an F, or how she imagines that feels, anyway.

_A kid who brought home an F and accidentally ran over a dog. And then kicked it._

“Willow!” Xander says, relieved. She looks at Tara, who resolutely stares forward. “Buffy’s gone, Angel’s on the phone trying to finagle a cure from his friends in LA, and Spike’s gone after her. Please help me convince them that’s a terrible idea.”

She blinks. “What?” She had been prepared to disagree with Xander for the sake of getting back in Tara’s good books, but wasn’t expecting… “No, the cure isn’t – that’s dangerous. The countercurses could overlap. I-I’ve got a handle on it. Tell him to stop so we don’t end up with double Buffies or something.”

“And Spike?” Giles asks quietly, looking like he would rather hear anything but her opinion. _Which, fair._

“I, um,” she gulps, suddenly feeling very much like sixteen-year-old Willow. Sixteen-year-old fraud Willow, wiping her sweaty palms on her ugly skirt and wishing she was anyone but herself. She takes a deep breath, trying to quell the sudden onslaught of anxiety, and she looks at Tara again. “Tara’s right, you guys should stay here. But I need to go.” She thinks of their earlier conversation. “Spike might just make this whole thing worse.”

“Thank you,” Xander says, exasperated, at the same time his fiancée ventures, “Couldn’t you, you know, also make things worse? I mean, this whole fiasco is pretty much your fault.”

She pretends not to hear her as she reaches out for Buffy’s energy and closes her eyes again. 

* * *

 

 _Much more of this and I won’t be able to float a pencil,_ she thinks, a little grateful that Cordelia is taking on the countercurse. She pauses, feeling out her body. _Actually, I don’t feel that tired, but I haven’t done this much in such a short period since the spring._

_I wasn’t that tired after the raising either, now that I think about it._

She emerges into the space and blinks. The place had felt familiar, but not so much so that she could pinpoint it. Wherever it was, it was cold, dark, and wooded. She whispers and a ball of light appears.

Buffy _feels_ nearby.

And she has a creeping feeling that she’s made the wrong call. She shakes it off and reaches back to the house (not an easy thing when she’s not entirely sure where it is from here, and she’s not exactly attuned to Cordelia’s reflective energy – _can you imagine?_ ). _Is she done with that damn counterspell?_ she sends, words (and expletives) translated into bumps and shocks of energy. The magic responds with tactile sensations; a rope under her fingers, taut until it suddenly coils at her feet.

“Never that easy, huh?” she mutters, gathering the woven band of energy. She can feel Cordelia’s energy in it still, sharp and red, so it hadn’t run out of juice. Something else is going on.

She’s suddenly, and very ungracefully, yanked up into the tree branches.

“What the – ” she manages before Spike’s cold hand is clapped over her mouth.

“Shut up, you dull bint,” he hisses, wiping drips of blood off his face with his free hand. _Oh, Spike, always so pleasant and misogynistic when he’s worried,_ she thinks sarcastically. “She’ll hear you.”

“Mmph,” she protests.

Grudgingly, he uncovers her mouth. “Doin’ that in case you have something important to say, not for your wordplay and blather. And _not_ for any more bleedin’ spells. You try that shite, I kill you myself. At least my pain will be temporary.”

“Where’s Buffy?” she asks, trying to resist the urge to take a little vengeance on him. _Not the first time he’s threatened me, but the first time that I could get back at him._

“She’s gone completely out of her head. When we showed up, she and Broody’d had a fight. Saw us and ran off. When I caught up to her she was a mess, crying, carrying on, dead set on ending herself. Figured the only way to keep her alive was to distract her.”

“Did it work?”

Spike points at the gash on the side of his face. “Little too well.”

“I have to go to her,” she says, dropping one of her legs and letting it dangle.

“Like hell,” he growls, grabbing her arm. “I’m not about to be responsible for Buffy snapping the neck of one of her lil’ Scoobies.”

“I’m the only one that can undo the spell. Cordelia did the legwork but for some reason it’s not taking. I’m the one who has to bring the spell to her, in this rope.”

“There’s no rope,” he says blankly.

She sighs. “It’s _magic_.”

“So it’s a metaphor then?”

For some reason, Spike talking like he’s in her freshman English class strikes her a little funny. “No, it’s real, it’s just not on this pla – ”

She doesn’t get to finish her explanation.


	9. Chapter 8

Willow watches for a second, stunned, as Spike disappears down from the branch. “Shit,” she says before remembering: _Duh. Witch._ She replaces it with a much more useful curse and freezes his descent.

“Relax,” says Buffy, in tones much different than she’d used before. Too calm. “I’m not going to hurt him. Right now, anyway.”

Spike slowly sinks to the ground, still under the influence of the spell, and Willow follows him warily. The Slayer stands, arms crossed, eerily silent. Patient, not unlike a cat waiting for its prey. Which was adorable on Miss Kitty Fantastico (may she rest in peace), but not so much on an angry lioness.

She can still feel the warmth of the rope, heating more feverishly now that the Slayer is near. _I should have felt that,_ she thinks. _If I were a better witch…_

But better witch reminds her of good witch reminds her of what Cordelia says. She blocks that thought. “Buffy,” she says instead, trying to sound chipper. “I have something for you.”

The other woman doesn’t acknowledge she’s spoken. Her hair is limp and there are tear tracks on her face, but she shows no inclination to cry again now. She says, “I thought about killing you, you know?”

“Oh?” Willow says, feeling that edge of anxiety creep into her voice. Her grip on the rope tightens.

Buffy shrugs. “Then I thought about killing myself. Maybe get an all-expense-paid trip back up to Heaven.”

“Buffy – ”

“Right, I know. Suicide is not the answer, don’t do drugs, kids, and remember that father knows best.”

Willow realizes that she’s addressing her words to somewhere above Willow’s right shoulder, instead of the crazy intense eye contact of before. _Maybe it is working. Maybe just being close to it is enough. Keep her talking._ “Or you could let me take the curse off. That would be a little bit like dying.”

She really hopes that Spike isn’t conscious enough to hear what she’s saying.

“Would it?” Buffy asks dully. “I don’t think so. More like being buried alive. That was always my worst fear, you know. Of course, thanks to you, I got to live it. Not every girl can say that.”

Willow takes her pain and funnels it into the existing rope. She swears she can see it glow for a second – not with her magical eye but with her actual eyes. “You were dead when we buried you,” she says, as levelly as possible. “I saw you. I touched you…”

Buffy takes a step forward, and _there’s the eye contact again._ But her bottom lip is trembling. “You put me in a box. You put me in a box and then you woke me back up. And then, just when I think maybe I’m starting to get the hang of things – starting to remember – you take my soul again and you put it in another box.”

“I…what?” she says, so surprised that the rope slips through her fingers.

“You put it in a box,” Buffy says emphatically, voice shaky. “It’s like – I can see it but I can’t touch it. Instead of putting me in the ground you put me in a museum.”

 _That can’t be true…there’s no way the magick I did was dark enough to remove a soul._ She reaches out without thinking and receives the equivalent of a psychic slap. She withdraws, startled.

“What are you doing?” Buffy hisses.

“I was just going to check – how did you do that? Nevermind,” she says quickly. Something is niggling at the back of her mind. The slap. The spell. Buffy’s never had the power to resist her magick like that before.

She’s lost in thought, trying to recall the dusty treatises and tomes on the nature of the soul, life, death, and the Slayer that she’d pored over all summer. Was it possible that somehow Buffy had tapped into some deeper power in her death and resurrection?

“Make me forget,” Buffy says suddenly, desperately.

“What?”

“Make me forget. I…I can’t trust you, and I hate that. I can’t trust anyone, not even myself, because I want the things I shouldn’t want and I don’t want the things I should want. But if I forget…I won’t know.”

She remembers her conversation with Giles and cringes. _Rank, arrogant amateur…_ his words still sting, but after this complete snafu she can’t deny a little of their truth. “No, you don’t want that.”

“Right, I forgot. You’re the fucking expert.”

She flinches, both at the unexpectedly harsh language and at the cold tone that’s retaken the Slayer’s voice. Subtly, she feels around for the rope with her foot. It’s scorching hot - were it a physical heat, the brush under their feet would definitely be on fire.

_How can I convince her?_

She thinks about Tara, her gentle power. Guidance sure and steady but never overreaching; carrying her along like an ocean wave. She takes a breath, feeling the calm wash over her. She feels Tara’s presence, closer than she expected (in proximity, not relationship – she suspects that will be kaput after tonight). The others must be waiting, watching through means magical or mundane. She does not take from her lover, but she mimics.

And she understands.

“You’re right, I’m not an expert. I can’t even undo this curse,” Willow admits.

“What?”

“I can’t do it. You can do it, if you want to. If not…there’s nothing I can do.”

“But you put the curse on me,” the Slayer objects, and she must have been close to giving in already because her unearthly calm seems to have broken entirely. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know that much.”

“I don’t know why, Buffy, but you don’t seem to want the curse to be broken. On my end…it already is. But you’re holding on.”

Buffy stares out for a minute. Now that she’s looking for it, she feels that power, the enormous power she’s wielding. Before the summer, she’d always sort of thought of her best friend as a separate person from her Calling, and maybe on some level they were. But now…the power is shining out from every part of her.

And Willow had been the one to try and take some of that power away.

“What do I have to do?” Buffy asks finally.

“Just reach out and take it. It’ll…break the glass, I guess. Free you.”

She regrets that last sentence the second it leaves her mouth, but if Buffy has any smart comments about death, she keeps them to herself. Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Buffy closes her eyes and reaches her physical arm out.

(Willow almost thinks something a little condescending about beginners, but then she remembers – _Duh. Slayer._ The magic and physicality are probably inseparable.

Tara is going to _love_ this.)

The rope moves at her command, coiling itself around her arm, pulling her down to the ground, and burning white-hot until it seems to disappear into her skin. Buffy doesn’t open her eyes.

Spike does.

Suspended animation finally broken, he moves to Buffy’s side immediately, disregarding his injuries and Willow’s presence. He’s murmuring something but she can’t hear it over the pounding in her head. She sits on the ground, suddenly dizzy. The pounding is soon accompanied by voices: Giles, Angel, Xander, Anya, Cordelia, Dawn. Blurs of movement around Buffy.

But she doesn’t need her barely-functioning eyes to see them. Some fragment of the sustained spell-connection remains. She sees their worried faces, their proffered hands. She feels Buffy stand on her own, but not alone. Accepting Dawn’s hug, taking Spike’s hand. A brush of fingertips on her shoulder –

 _Oh. Not Buffy’s shoulder._ She turns, head aching, and meets Tara’s eyes. She’s been crying. Maybe they both have been – she’s so tired she can hardly feel her face. She must say something like “I’m sorry,” because Tara is shushing her, brushing away her hair, soothing her. “It’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”

Funny enough, in this moment, that’s the thing Willow is the most sure of.

She is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Planning to fill in a few more blanks with oneshots, namely the first time between Buffy and Spike, the conversation with Buffy and Angel, and perhaps Buffy and Spike in the woods.


End file.
